Missing
by Vaetra
Summary: Oneshot. Sweeney was never killed by Toby, but Mrs Lovett is still dead, and now the demon barber comes back to visit his old home... somewhat angsty.


It was exactly the same, really, he thought with some bemusement as he gazed numbly around that place to which he had sworn he

_Much as I would like to say that the idea for this was solely mine, but actually the inspiration came from this video I saw on Youtube. It's a fan video to "Missing" by Evanescence, (but this isn't a song fic) and if you want to check it out, it's very good: __/watch?vtC1Xb52d9kg__ It was weird, I saw this video, and then this fanfic just like burst out of me. (Sorry for the horrible mental image, but…)_

_Anyway, the plot of this is pretty much that Sweeney wasn't killed by Toby, but Mrs Lovett still died, and now Sweeney's come back two years later to find that something's missing… (Oh, and I'm still working on "All That's Left", for those of you who care.)_

It was exactly the same, really, he thought with some bemusement as he gazed numbly around that place to which he had sworn he would never return. He still couldn't say exactly how he had gotten here. He had been on one of his long walks through that hateful city, gazing up at the joyless moon and the dead stars, almost obscured by the thick London smog, when he found himself on Fleet Street, standing outside the door and staring blankly inside. While his mind had wandered, going places no mind should ever have to go, to Hell and beyond and then back again, his treacherous feet had carried him, out of sheer habit, back to the very place he had been trying to avoid: Mrs Lovett's meat pie emporium, or at least, the place where it used to be. The building was now owned by a wealthy landlord who had never set foot inside it, but the sign above the shop windows was still there, grimy at the corners.

In all of the two years since that horrible, hellish night when the truth was revealed to him, Sweeney Todd had refused to set foot on this whole accursed street, let alone stand face to face with his old home, the place where he had experienced both the best and worst moments of his life. The place where he had lived as Benjamin Barker and returned to as Sweeney Todd. He was neither of these men now, but he had nothing else to call himself, and so he kept the latter title. Whatever he was, he was still closer to the murderous barber than the innocent young man he used to be.

Reaching out a pale hand, the Sweeney-who-wasn't opened the door, slowly, so the bell wouldn't sound. The shop beyond was dark but for the grey moonlight which streamed weakly through the windows and lay like a dying thin on the scarred and pitted countertop. The counter itself was bare, and the room was deathly quiet. For a moment Mr Todd was confused- wasn't something missing?

He started to try to summon up an image of whatever it was he might be forgetting, when his dark eyes caught on the bake house door, heavy, ugly, like a monster sitting in his path. The man looked quickly away, fighting memories that rose like bile in his throat. He remembered little of that last night, and what he could recall he had tried to block out. But he couldn't help but think of it now: the blood drying on his face, the pulsing heat of a hellish oven, staring down at his reason and his life- his Lucy, dirt-smeared and dead. He had considered taking his own life then, pulling the still-bloody razor across his throat, and joining his wife- that last token of innocence- in death. But no sooner had he had t his thought, that Sweeney knew that even if he did end it, he would never be with Lucy again. For an angel would go to heaven, whereas he, a demon, must surely be in Hell. And though eternal damnation could hardly be any worse than life in this black pit of London, Sweeney Todd was surprised to find that he wasn't ready to die just yet.

And so he had left Fleet Street that night with h is life and nothing else. He could have left London if he could, but, really, where would he go? Everywhere else in the world was just as corrupt and filthy as here, and if he was going to live in a hellhole, he might at least stay in the one he knew. He continued to be a barber- it was the only trade he knew, but never again did he slash another throat, and never again did he glean the same joy from the craft as he had as Benjamin Barker. It was just a way to fill the time until he died of one cause or another.

And now here he was again, back in that place where Lucy had laughed and drawn breath, and where her breathing had eventually stopped. But... wasn't something missing? Unable to shake off the feeling that he had forgotten something, Mr Todd moved forward to finger a deep slice in the wood of the counter, made by a butcher knife hastily slammed down by an over-excited- _Mrs Lovett._

So suddenly, a barrier in Mr Todd's mind was broken and he swayed slightly as memory flooded over him. _Mrs Lovett…_ Her name, not thought of for so long, echoed around his head. It was like a stone had been dropped into the still, black pool of his mind, and now the memories came back like ripples, lapping at the edges of his consciousness: Mrs Lovett, mouth half-open in an eager smile, waiting for him to react to a twisted little joke she had made about a priest; the baker pulling him up from the floor, letting him lean his weight against her as she led him down to the table in the front of her shop and gave him a glass of gin. He remembered the way she used to talk about the sea, the time he had thought that perhaps he should indulge her, and had placed an awkward hand on her leg- an extremely forward gesture, though he hadn't realized it at the time. And she had always been so wonderfully practical, when all _he_ could do was brood. He remembered his absolute delight when she had come up with her brilliant plan of how to dispose of the bodies- clean up his mess, really. She had loved him, h knew. She had told him so, right before- right before he had pushed her into the fire.

A completely unexpected feeling of remorse washed through Sweeney Todd. She was dead now. Just like Lucy. As he looked around again, he realized that he had made his way up the stairs into his old barbershop. His feet seemed to have a habit of carrying him places he did not wish to go. But his eye caught on the polished wooden box on the bureau in the corner, and he walked over to it, and, almost afraid of what he would see, lifted the lid.

As the silver smiled up at him, he was reminded powerfully of that first time after he had return when Mrs Lovett had reunited him with his razors. She had given him back his friends, yet he had failed to realize that she was his friend too. He looked at them now, those beautiful instruments of death, not with searing bloodlust, but with cold certainty of what he had to do. The razor, when he lifted it from the box, was so familiar in his grip. Mrs Lovett was dead by his own hand, just like Lucy. He held the razor to his neck. _All demons must surely be in Hell…_ It didn't hurt much. Lucy was beyond his reach, but he knew he would see Mrs Lovett again. As he watched his own blood pool on the floor, Sweeney Todd smiled. _That_ was something worth dying for.


End file.
